


The Gathering Storm

by OutcastTrip1995



Series: So, a Mando, a Dathomirian and an Umbaran Walk Into a Cantina [28]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: But upsetting Fury is pretty stupid, Don't sneak up on the Infiltrators, He doesn't care, He lives up to his name, Krell is such a DICK, Poor Trauma, Scrat is a clumsy darling, Someone rescue this poor babe!, Tempers are definitely fraying now, They get vicious, Yeah Nikov wasn't using the Force in a way the Jedi would approve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastTrip1995/pseuds/OutcastTrip1995
Summary: As they approach the air base tensions continue to strain





	The Gathering Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gods I'm so sorry I'm late with this! Inspiration is a fickle mistress
> 
> The Hellions belong to the lovely naaklasolus!
> 
> Usual Outcast warnings apply: they're foul mouthed, vicious and insane

Nikov let out a low growl as he stalked away from Krell and his little pet Padawan. Talk about fucking double standards! He’d done what had needed to be done to win the battle; not her! And yet she was the one being praised while he just got criticism. Gritting his teeth and growling again, Nikov angrily used the Force to blast a small boulder out of his way. The sudden movement and sharp protests of rock sliding over rough ground made multiple Outcasts flinch and jump for their weapons; Scrat managing to actually fire off a shot that narrowly missed a now raging Fury as he clumsily fumbled with his blaster. Ignoring the carnage his little temper outburst had just caused among his own men, Nikov yanked his helmet off and threw it violently. 

“Someone tell meh Swipes ‘as go’ ‘is damn job done now!” 

*** 

Swipes flinched, looking back over his shoulder and frowning. 

“Warbrat’s pissed.” 

Quicksilver looked up at his mentor and winced before shaking his head and returning his attention to the Hellions that were a few paces in front of them. 

“He’s always pissed Boss. Especially with us having to deal with Krell and the Hellions.” 

Swipes let out an annoyed growl and roughly shoved Quicksilver; a sharp signal to get back to work. Up above them, Spectre just rolled his eyes and continued to practically dance his way through the branches, each step perfectly placed as he wove through the twisted foliage above the two teams below. He was sick of all this; he didn’t understand why Swipes didn’t just kill the other A-type and let the rest of them finish off the remaining members of the Hellion team so they could do their job properly. The young assassins eyes narrowed when he caught sight of one of the Hellions break off from the group and circle around behind his own team. So … it was as they’d expected. The Hellions were going to try and take them out first. Growling, he started to descend from the canopy. 

“Guys … you have one Hellion coming up on your six … things are going sideways; and not in the good way.” 

This couldn’t be happening now … the airfield’s perimeter fence was mere feet away! Swipes was already reacting though; whirling around on the Hellion with a vicious snarl. 

*** 

Trauma flinched sharply when shouting came from the Outcasts’ side of the camp as he silently sidled up to General Krell. Pausing in the powerful Besalisk Jedi’s shadow, he waited to be acknowledged. 

“I require more bacta treatments.” 

Biting his lip and knowing that any protests would only result in pain, humiliation and a cut in his medical supplies; all Trauma could do was nod and slip his pack from his shoulders. Crouching down, he unbuckled the flap and opened the pack up. 

“Yes sir General.” 

Pulling out a tiny half empty tub of bacta rub out of his pack, Trauma sighed at how empty his pack was looking. But there was no way he could ask for more medical supplies; not until he could prove he was a better medic. Getting to his feet, he opened up the tub and started to carefully apply the bacta to the still rather prominent bruising around General Krell’s throat. He paused at the angry and pained growl, wincing. 

“S-sorry sir.” 

He quickly finished up, crouching down again in Krell’s shadow to close his pack up. A tight grip latched onto the back of his neck and he was lifted off the ground and thrown. Landing in a crumpled heap, Trauma could only gasp for air as Krell towered over him and snarled. 

“Be more careful you clumsy fool!” 

“Yes s-s-s-sir.” 

Trauma quietly picked himself up, ignoring the stares from the other clones as he rubbed his arm and limped back over to his spilled pack. He quickly and automatically repacked the bandages, bacta tubs and other equipment, his hands moving with the experience born of having done the same actions repeatedly in the past. Sighing tiredly as he shouldered his pack, bruised shoulder twinging, Trauma just slunk back to his place in Krell’s shadow. The stares were still on him but he ignored them; the others would stare and stare … but they’d never do anything that would put their own skins at risk. He was alone; he was used to it now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ^^


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